Kooser and Accessiblity: I broke the rules

When he was Poet Laureate, one of Ted Kooser’s main messages was accessibility. He argued that good poems should be accessible. He used the analogy of the glass bottom boat. The poem is a glass bottom boat the reader looks through or reads to enter the poem. Kooser argues putting an object on the glass or dropping an object on the surface interferes with the understanding and enjoyment of the experience. This interference can be anything from using 5 instead of five or an & instead of and.
I argue that Kooser misses an entire aspect of poetry and of art. Modernist painters learned that the picture was the illusion. Painters strived for centuries to make the painting look as “real” as possible. The frame itself, is a replica of the window frame to create the illusion of looking outside at a “real” scene. In the 19th century, painters begin to realize the picture is the illusion. The “real” is the paint on the canvas. A painting is an arrangement of lines, colors, and forms on a flat surface. This arrangement can lead to or trigger emotions, concepts, or ideas, but the reality is the paint on the canvas.
A poem is an arrangement of words and symbols on a page. How these words are arranged can lead to emotions, meanings, stories… Pound and definitely cummins realized a poem is words and symbols on a page. Sometimes dropping an object on the glass is part of the poem. The poem is about the arrangement as well as or even instead of the narrative.

The previous posts were some poems I have written over the last few years which clearly disagree with Kooser's opinon.

Poem: Gadfly

GADFLY

Gladly gadfly
Happenstance randomness
Goals unknown
No cares declared
Lives tomorrows today.

Poem: A Poem Self-Referential

A Poem
Self-referential


1 1
The first line
is itself
a one;
5 and a 5 the fifth
at five
The stanza break:
why?
a new thought?
10 or arbitrary for form?
Meter, verse, and rhythm?
word choice?
Planned or happenstance?
The theme, the subject?
15 a narrative?
ode or tribute?
lyric?
The poem itself
will conclude
20 at its volition.

Poem: To do list Today

TO DO LIST, TODAY


Nothing...

Poem: The Back of the Sock Drawer

THE BACK OF THE SOCK DRAWER

Mateless commas on the bedspread
Useless halffunctions of whatoncewas
Lost in process
Onceunits going in
Orphans coming out
Time passes
As they take up space
And eventually
Forgotten with nopurpose

Poem: Imeego

Imeego

Imeego
egomeI
Fathersonholyghost Fathersonholyghost
IChristI IChristI IChristI IChristI IChristI
meChristme
egoChristego
Godisdead
meisdead
egoisdead
Iisdead
Christisdead

Poem: I AND ME MEET SHE (cummins tribute)

I AND ME MEET SHE

when I and Me
met She
It was love at first sight for three
I and She dated
as did Me and She
and I and Me remained friends
though both loved she
Me was injured when
a car veered wide
I and She cried
when their friend died
and found the love
for I and She; and
Me and She; and
I and Me; and
I and Me and She;
could not last
without Me
so I took to drink
and lost himself
and She took men
like children with candy
as Me slowly rots
the three now alone.

Poem: Not-A

NOT-A

The not-a-telephone does not ring
The not-a-light does not glow
The not-a-freezer is not cold
The not-a-television is black
The not-a-radio is silent
Outside -
I hear birds
And the wind
And occasional voices
The not-a-engines are silent
And some seek others...
Others cower alone
And noone knows
Why everything stopped
The not-our-world is changed?

Poem: Alone

ALONE



Alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealoneaalonealonealonealone
Alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alonea lone
Alone
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealo
nealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealo
nealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealo
nealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonea
lonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealo
nealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealoneal
onealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealon
ealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealoneal
onealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealon
ealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealo
nealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealon
ealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealo
nealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealon
ealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealo
nealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealon
ealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealon
ealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealo
nealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealon
ealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealoealonealonealonealonealone
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealo
nealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealoneal
onealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealo
nealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone

Poem: Me (cummins tribute)

ME


May I, said me
Of course, said we:
Me & he she & she
How can I, said me?
Be you is all, said we:
Me & he she & she
I shouldn’t have, said me
Too late, said we:
Me & he she & she
How did I, said me?
It is you, not us, said we:
Me & he she & she
I’m sorry, said me
Silence, said we:
Me & he she & she
Talk to me, said me
We don’t know, said we:
Me & he she & she
Let’s follow together, said the:
He & he she & she.

Poem: i

i
I was i (little i)
The i before I (big I)
The
awarness
i
was afraid of:
being alone;
&
rejection by family and friends;
&
failure;
&
those i thought better.
i dreamed
but was aftraid to act.
i
afraid of his flaws
but i
never afraid of tomorrow
so i became I
who is still afraid
but can accept
fear.

Poem: Me (is me)

ME
meisme is meisme
tobeme is tobemeis tobe
freetobeme freetobe
is tobefree meistobefree
meisme

Poem: Time

TIME

Time
does not function the mechanism is broken and yet -
everyone is older than before
without Time
so Timeless is not frozen but the absence of -
and Time is still there but not functioning and yet -
everyone is older than before
but there was never a without Time since -
Time was always there and did not function
because the mechanism is broken so -
Time is not age and -
Exists without time though -
Time was never without it just -
Time does not function so -
what does broken Time mean?
since time is never in absence but -
only not functioning and -
age continues to happen
happen time ageless but not less

Poem: I am Lost

I AM LSTO

Iam lsto
The ideas, the concepts
the quagmiire of too many, to sort, to understand,
of opposing views, of opposition, of destruction,
as words, written and spoken, few understood, few accepted
as most fly on past, to the past, gone before I can understand them,
as channels change, and pages turn, too quickly, too gone, too gone, too gone,
I am lost.
As I sit at my computer, writing, composing, decomposing, the words of the great,
I realize how few, and how too many the greats were, and the greats aren’t and
I start
confused, cfoneusued - iedas, cceonpts, hTe sntecne, as I wtrie it, bceoems cfseonud nda lsot in oot mnay iedas form yteredeasy nad tdoay. aWtl hiWmtamn is het fehtar of dab pertoy.
So I srot het iedas oznigarng tehm by ptirioy an
Iam lsto.

Poem: I Love you in Forty-One Languages

I LOVE YOU in 41 LANGUAGES

Ek het jou lief; Ohhe-buk; Nin ko nga; Chit pa de; Ngor oi ley; T’estimo; Noi makokonda; Ndimakukonda; Ik hou vanje; Mi amas vin; Mina rakastan sinus; Je t’aime; Tha gradh agam ort Ich liebe dich; Se ero Ndiinoluda, Te amo; Jag alskar dig; I Chaa di Garn; Iniibig kita; Mahal kita; Phom Rak Khun; Keyagorata; Seni seviyorum; Mi-an aap say piyar karta hun; ‘Rwy’n dy garu di; Ikh hob dikh lib; Ngiya kuthanda; I love you.

Poem: Tobacco Mosaic Virus (found poem)

Tobacco Mosaic Virus
Tobacco Mosaic Virus, Dahlemense Strain, also know as:
A
ce
tyl
sery
ltyro
sylser
yiisole
ucylthr
eonylse
rylprolyl
serylgluta
minylphen
ylalanylvaly
lphenylanyl
leucylserylse
rylvalyltrypsop
hylalanylasparty
lprolylisoleucylgl
utamylleucylleuc
ylasparaginylvalylc
ysteinylthreonylse
rylserylleucylglycyl
asparaginylgutaminy
lphenylalanylglutamin
ylthreonylgutaminylglu
taminylalglutaminylaany
larginylthreonylthreonyl
glutaminylvalyglutaminylg
lutaminylphenylalanylseryl
glutaminylvalyltryptophylly
sylprolylphenylalanylprolylg
lutaminylserylthreanylvalylar
ginylphenylalanylalanylprolylg
lyclaspartylvalyltryrosllysylvaly
tr
nylvalylleucylaspartylprolylleucy
lisoleucyltheonylalanylleucylleuc
ylglycylthreonylphenylalanylaspar
tylthreorylarginylaspargiylarginyliso
leucylisoleucylglutamylvalylglutamyla
sparginlglutaminylgutaminylserylproly
threonylthreonylalanylglutamylthreon
ylleucylaspartylalanylthreonylarginylar
ginylvalyplaspartylaspartylalnylthreonyl
valylalanylisoleucylarginylserylalanylaspa
rainylisoleucylasparaginylleucylvalylasparag
inylglutamylleucylvlylarginylglyclthreonylglc
ylleucyltrosylasparaginylglutaminlasparaginyl
threonylphenylalanylglutamylserylmethionyls
erylglycylleucylvalytryptophylthreonylserylalanylprolylalanylserine
Acetylseryltyrosylseryiisoleucylthreonylserylprolylserylglutaminylphenylalanylvalylphenylanylleucylserylserylvalyltrypsophylalanylaspartylprolylisoleucylglutamylleucylleucylasparaginylvalylcysteinylthreonylserylserylleucylglycylasparaginylgutaminylphenylalanylglutaminylthreonylgutaminylglutaminylalglutaminylaanylarginylthreonylthreonylglutaminylvalyglutaminylglutaminylphenylalanylserylglutaminylvalyltryptophyllysylprolylphenylalanylprolylglutaminylserylthreanylvalylarginylphenylalanylalanylprolylglyclaspartylvalyltryrosllysylvalytrosylarginyltyrosylaspaginylalanylvalylleucylaspartylprolylleucylisoleucyltheonylalanylleucylleucylglycylthreonylphenylalanylaspartylthreorylarginylaspargiyvlylarginylglyclthreonylglcylleucyltrosylasparaginylglutaminlasparaginylthreonylphenylalanylglutamylserylmethionylserylglycylleucylvalytryptophylthreonylserylalanylprolylalanylserine

Poem: Hugs And Kisses

HUGS AND KISSES

O’s and X’s
She signed the letter
Hugs and kisses
With o’s and x’s
The o
Is the mouth of the scream
(Of Edvard Munch)
Frozen in timeless hell
The x is
The eyes of the dead
The symbol of
And not or banned
Hugs and death
Screams and kisses
Or simply tic tac to
The game noone ever wins

Poem: Brand Name Narrative

BRAND NAME NARRATIVE

Match.com
AOL.com
Yahoo.com
FTD
Godiva
Red Lobster
Beringer
Absolute
AMC
Beringer
Absolute
Seily
Trojan
First Response
Pampers
Zales
Lord and Taylor
David’s Bridal
Travelocity.com
Hawaiian Air
Hilton
Chevy Venture
La Petite
Barney
NBC
Tonight's Show
Seily
Valuim

Poem: Broken Man

The
RO
B KE
E
N
ANm
The
Bro
ken
M
a
n I
N
r e s/S r S
F
g d D
E
HIDDEN
h
Weo
l F
A
The C
A
D
E
e
H C
r e a A
L
i O
N
E
The broken man

Poem: A Snack (found poem)

NabiscoWheatsworthwithKraftExtraSharpCheddarCheesewithWine

Enrichedflour(wheatflour,niacin,reducediron,thiaminemononitrate[Vitamin B1],riboflavin[VitaminB2],folicacid);Partiallyhudrodgenatedsoybeanoil;Defattedwheatgerm;Stonegroundwholewheatflour;Sugar;Toastedhulledsesameseeds,Salt,Leavening(bakiingsodacalciumphosphate),Honey,Wheatgluten(Aprotien);Cornsyrup,Maltsyrup,Soylecithin(emulsifier),Caramelcolor.
Milk;Cheeseculture;Salt;Enzymes;Annatto(color);Natamycin(anaturalmoldinhibitor);agedoversixtydays.
Terrale2001PrimitivoPugliaIndicazioneGeograficaTipica

Poem: Subtle

SUBTLE

Subtle: adj. DELICATE, ELUSIVE
( fragrance)
After we danced - she lingered - a subtle perfume - her scent on my shirt
difficult to understand or distinguish: obscure( differences in sound)
So subtle she disappeared in the mist
A subtle poem etching on my consciousness
having or marked by keen insight and ability to penetrate deeply and thoroughly ( a ~ scholar)
Insightful clear and subtle as the words with appeared on my page
highly skillful :
And sang my heart - a subtle soliloquy by a mezzo-soprano
EXPERT (a ~ craftsman)
Subtle she carved the air in her wake
cunningly made or contrived: INGENIOUS
The subtle sculpture - fine art
ARTFUL CRAFTY (a ~ rogue) 5: operating insidiously (poisons) -
As she closed the door subtle - another man on her arm

Poem Sex

Sex
Sex - to me as a man is a series of actions leading toward a goal with a goal which is the conclusion which is the climax and nothing matters except to climax to conclude to climax the rest of making love is the process toward the climax which is all that matters the end.

Poem Flower

Flower

lipsvulvavagina
flower

Ax

EX
Ex
Ax
Axed
Exed
Axxeexxa
Axeddexeexeddexa
XDDX

Shame on you, Mr. Bush

Shame on you President Bush.

President Bush said, when he vetoed the SCHIP children’s health insurance bill, that he vetoed the bill because it was too expensive and maybe some children, whose parents could afford private insurance, would instead choose the federal health insurance. Finally, he said, it would be bad for the country for the government to give those children the insurance.

First, I wonder if Mr. Bush would veto the next appropriation bill to fund the war in Iraq. After all, some of the money might go to contractors who are manipulating the books for fake and excess expenses to pad their already inflated wallets. No, the money is needed to fund the troops and the SCHIP is needed for the children.

Health care for our children is not too expensive and what is bad for the country is a child not getting health insurance.

Here in Missouri, Roy Blunt, the house minority whip is absolutely certain they can sustain the president's veto. Also Sam Graves and Kenny Hulsoff were more than content to be loyal Bushies and vote against the bill. They children are not a priority and giving them health insurance is bad for the country (Bushes own words).

Poet has first works published in Poetry Magazine

The most recent Poetry Magazine (October 2007, vol. 191, no. 1), published two works by Shail D. Patel. Patel lives in northern Indiana and the two poems are his first published works. Even staid, established publications like Poetry Magazine are publishing first time poets.

In other words, submit, submit, submit.

The Party of Priviledge and Mint Juleps

The Republican presidential candidates were invited to attend a debate/discussion on race issues at Howard University last night. The four frontrunners, Rudy G., Fred T, Mitch, and John declined to attend because of “scheduling conflicts.” After Katrina and some well staged photo-ops, King W., promised the federal government would help rebuild the South and he would join Trent Lott at his rebuilt home (mansion) on the gulf to sip mint juleps. It appears the fab four front runners are in lock step with King George and the former party of Lincoln is the part of privileged and mint juleps.

Ed Rawn

Ed Rawn passed away two summers ago. He was remarkable. He was a giant in size and in spirit. Every Saturday, we would all meet. He would sit and listen giving everyone his full attention. Occasionally, he would add a few words in the richest baritone. His voice was music.

Ed was many things: a scholar, an educator, a mentor, a friend, a counselor, a minister, and a giant. He joked that when he went he wanted not to be buried, but he wanted the big burn. Let the earth have his ashes.

Ed was the kindest and wisest man I ever knew. I wrote these words about him:

GIANT HEART

Giant heart anticipated the big burn
Sitting subtle giving deft philosophy
In cello baritone

In sparse words Giant Heart
Specifics wisdom and smiles
In warm waves toward everyone

As conversation flows from smile
To smile he listens nodding
The comfort of friends

Giant Heart
Improved all he knew
In word caresses as brilliant as flowers
Ideas the sublime of sunset

The good doctor, the giant man
From dust to ash, opened many lives
A space we can never fill.

God's Wife

God’s Wife

Tuesday
I met God’s wife
Or so she said
Reading some magazine with muscles
And drinking coffee at Borders
I believe a latte
A nice enough woman
Pretty, with brown hair and eyes
Looking like any one of thousands
Of women you see in a month
No prettier
Her husband is omnipotent
I don’t believe she is
At least she did nothing to make me believe
She added sugar to her coffee
And had to wipe crumbs from the corner of her mouth with a napkin
Which fell and lingered on her blouse between her breasts
And I noticed she had a run in her stocking
When she stood to go to the restroom.
But she said she was God’s wife
Not his first
They had met in 1542
On a dirt path in Spain
Near some pastures
On the southern coast
God was sitting on a boulder
Wearing the robe and the sandals
With wild white hair and a wizard’s beard
The whole God-thing ensemble
Just sitting there
Head on his hands watching a sheep
Maybe wondering if he had goofed
He looked pensive with pursed lips
And maybe a little sad
God’s Wife knew he was God
Somehow she knew
She watched him for awhile
Out of his line of sight
But she knew
He knew she was there
So she asked?
-God-
-Why are you so sad?-
-I messed up sheep-
-So now, well...
-they're sheep-
-Yes, but why else are you sad?-
-My wife died last night-
-Oh I’m sorry-
Well God’s wife
Talked to God
That day, and the next, and the next
Without sleep or eating or drinking
He had so much to talk about
And when she talked to him
She had so much to say
About things she never knew she knew
She fell in love with his wild eyes
Which changed color with his moods:
Yellows and greens and crimson cobalt and
Deepest black and the white of pure light when he grew livid
And she fell in love with his mane
Of white which danced as he spoke
Punctuating his sentences with floating and flying
God’s wife - just a butcher’s daughter
Not even sixteen
Knew she was pretty, but others were prettier
And she was lithe and wore herself with assuredness
They were married in the town’s little Gothic church
With father Dominic presiding
God’s wife’s family was there
As well as everyone in the little Spanish town
And everyone from the area
Most sat on her side
How could some decide?
To sit on his side?
The priests and monks and nuns
Even though they were family
Thought sitting on his side
Vain
Still some did
To be polite
And were uncomfortable
Along with the crazy man
Who talks to himself
Who God welcomed by name
And a funny crow who cawed
At the right times
And some odd men in strange clothes
Who sat in the back
And talked to no one
But themselves
The ceremony was short
And the priest was uncomfortable
With the vows
-In God’s name, I mean your name-
Everyone congratulated the couple
And they walked off to the east
Arm in arm
God’s wife
She returned home frequently
Never missing a birthday
Nor an anniversary
But as time passed and
She barely aged
Since she lived in a different time zone
Her family and friends all
Grew old and passed on so
She made new friends in
Bern, then Salzberg, then Moscow,
London, Paris, San Francisco,
Havana and Lima and
Now her friends in New York have passed on
Like the others before
So she sips a coffee and talked to
Me and gave me her cell phone number
It has 112 numbers all twos
And now I am her friend.


God's Wife was written about five years ago. It was published in Tales From the
Telling Tree: Pat Berge and Nancy North, editors.

Quality and what is great art?

I am intrigued by the nature of quality. What makes art art and how do we recognize it? In a graduate school seminar years ago, we spent several days on the topic. One of the arguments is that great art has an innate quality about it that is recognizable and timeless. For instance, the Venus of Willendorf, though thousands of years old and created by a member of a culture long gone, is viewed as great art because it has that quality. By this argument, all great work is recognizable regardless of time or culture.

I then have to ask: was the Venus of Willendorf even considered great in its time? Is it only considered great because it survived?

In contrast, I look at Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring which caused near riots when it debuted at the beginning of the century and many experts regarded as garbage. When the ballet was performed just a year later, it was regarded as a masterpiece. Cezanne’s paintings were perceived by his contemporaries as horrible. Only Pissarro recognized his genius. As time passed, Cezanne’s genius was recognized and the quality of his work is now never questioned.

My wife and I even have this discussion when it comes to popular music. She appreciates and accepts as quality work those done by the finest vocalists and works with fine melodies. I, in contrast, care less for the quality of the vocals. For instance, as my wife puts it, Neil Young and Bob Dylan are great songwriters, but someone else should sing the songs. I see the quality of the songs and appreciate the visceralness (not a word) of their expression. Their voices, though far from perfect, bring something to their music.

By my wife’s definition, presentation is the most important aspect of quality. The elements, for instance line, form and color in painting, when done well, represent quality. I place a higher value in content and expressiveness. For instance, a local big fish in a small pond academic poet, Robert Stewart at UMKC, composes technically perfect poetry with precise meter and word choice. I find his work, however, as expressive as cardboard.

Which brings me back to the nature of quality. What work is great and what about it makes it great? The only answer that has carried through time is the great works are the ones that critics and experts (mostly males of Northern European descent) have placed in the canon. The other catch all measure of quality is the Strom Thurman “I may not know art, but I know what is good,“ argument. If I don’t like it then it can’t be good.

On a personal note, I ponder my own work. I look at each work and wonder about the. I hope to produce quality work, but am I? I recognize some of the works are weaker. Still, is my work any good? And does it matter? As I post my work, I will revisit this inanswerable question from time to time.